The Loss of Self
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: One of the team wakes up in a river without a memory. Who is he? What happened and can he remember? Ten chapters total. Now complete.
1. Prologue

**Loss of Self**

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS... or Ashton, Idaho. :)**

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**Prologue**

There was a roaring in his ears and water soaking his clothing. No other part of his body felt much better. His lungs decided that water did not belong in them and he coughed painfully for a while. Then, he forced his eyes open for a few seconds, and groaned in pain as he tried to move.

_I knew this was a bad idea,_ he thought and then wondered what he meant. As he registered his confusion at his own thoughts, he began to shuffle through his memories and shortly realized that there were none. He grasped wildly for something to tell him what was going on, but there was absolutely nothing. His mind was an absolute blank.

He decided to at least try to find out where he was. That would require sight. He opened his eyes again and squinted in the bright sunlight. Sun. He was outside then. That was something. However, at the moment, all he could see was sun. He groaned loudly as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position. His legs caught on sharp rocks, and his arms ached as if he'd been lifting weights. Maybe he had been. The scene that greeted him as he looked around was stunning. There was a wide river broken by a waterfall. He was sitting near a small cave at the bottom. A forest? Where? Had he gone over that waterfall? Okay, so location was outside somewhere in a forest, next to a river. Not much help there.

He turned his attention to himself. His clothes had obviously seen much better days. The pants were torn, and he suspected that if he hadn't been sitting in a river, they would be bloodstained. His jacket... wait, there was an insignia on the back. He winced and craned his neck to read the letters. N...C...I...S... the meaning floated out of the black hole in his mind: _Naval Criminal Investigative Service_. So he was an investigator. Okay. Why was someone who was part of the Navy lying in a river? That part made no sense... unless this river was near an ocean. Again, from the depths of his mind, an answer came. He was nowhere near the ocean. He was in the mountains. It was comforting to note that at least the memories were somewhere in his head; he just couldn't seem to access them at the moment.

"Do you see him down there?" The shout startled him. He wasn't alone here. Maybe they could help. He started to struggle to his feet.

"No! Not a sign. You must have killed him! The water's too shallow to have given him any protection." The words made his blood run cold. Were they talking about him? They must be. No one else was around here.

"Check out the base of the falls! Make sure there's nothing left." He began to panic. There was no one else. Just him... and people who apparently wanted him dead. He looked around. If someone was coming down here, he would have to hide somewhere. He stood and immediately wrapped an arm around his chest. He probably had broken at least one rib. He wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. Maybe he was a Marine. He looked down at himself and laughed cynically. If he was a Marine, then the Navy had lowered their standards. He looked up and saw rocks falling from directly above him.

"I'm not going down there!" the second voice shouted. "I'll probably join him. You shot him and he fell into six inches of rushing water! If he's not dead now, he will be soon! Let them find his body!" _They shot me? I'm not bleeding, am I?_ He looked down at himself again and couldn't see any gushing blood.

"Fine!" came the response. "Get back up here and help me move this junk. We're behind schedule."

More rocks fell as the man probably scrambled back up the cliff. He sighed in relief. What in the world could he have done if that guy had come down? A more pressing question came into his all too empty mind: _What would he do now?_ He had no idea what those men looked like and he'd only heard their voices distorted with shouting over the roaring of the falls. He stayed motionless for a long time. He couldn't hear anyone, but he didn't dare move into plain sight. However, he looked back into the cave. The water didn't fill it all up. He could at least get out of the water and maybe dry off before... he turned away from the thought of spending the night outdoors. He took a faltering step, favoring his left leg, toward the back of the cave when he noticed a backpack floating in the eddy by the falls. Maybe it was his and maybe it could give him a clue as to who he was.

A few seconds of cautious and anxious fumbling ended with the waterlogged bag in his hands. He opened it and found a digital camera, some sealed bags of what he guessed must be evidence of some sort, fingerprints, and some other things that he didn't recognize. He pulled out the digital camera and without much hope, tried to turn it on. As he had suspected, it was soaked. He threw out the batteries to prevent them from leaking acid. Something told him, however, that this was important to keep; so even though it was heavy, he decided to carry it with him.

He had to get out of here in case they did decide to come back. How would he know who was safe and who was not? This whole amnesia thing was kind of a drag. He didn't know who were friends and who were enemies. He looked at the river more closely. It was shallow. He didn't dare cross right next to the falls, but further down stream might be easy enough. He figured he should try to disguise where he was going to keep the bad guys off his trail... with that thought he paused. What if he _was_ a bad guy? He shook his head. That didn't feel right and he refused to believe it in any case. He was part of NCIS whatever that really meant and the Navy was not the place for evil men... at least not too many.

"No. I am not a villain," he said aloud. He paused at the sound of his own voice. It was strange and yet familiar at the same time. Never mind. He could think about his allegiances later. The important thing right now was to stay alive.

He painstakingly crawled over the boulders around the cave and limped to the water's edge. It was very shallow here. It was anyone's guess how shallow it would be in the middle of the river.

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained." Strange how those cliches flowed naturally. Why was it that personal memories were lost and knowledge retained?

He shrugged and took a step into the water. It was cold. What was worse though was the feeling of exposure he felt as he left the security of the bank. Anyone could see him out here, and the bad thing was that, while he was unaware of the sides in whatever game this was, the people after him certainly did, which put him at a distinct disadvantage. He limped across the river, managing to twist his ankle in a hole as he did so. He also fell down a few times, each time making him groan. Luckily, he didn't slide much further down the river as he could see more white water coming up. An idea came to him though, while he was wading: Why not just walk a little way down the river in the water? That would keep them (whoever _they_ were) off his trail. He wobbled and slid downstream for a few yards and was panting hard by the time he finally gave up and slogged his way onto the opposite bank. Was he really this out of shape or was it because of his injuries? If he had let his body get this way on purpose, when he found out who he was, he'd tell himself a thing or two. Somehow, he had the feeling that there was someone else who would do the same thing... only with physically-added punctuation.

He sat down with a sigh on the bank, blocked from view by a few bushes and began looking through his pockets. He hadn't thought to do that before. He found a cell phone. He flipped it open eagerly, but sighed again when he realized that it was broken and dark. Of course. If he'd really fallen off a cliff and gone over a waterfall, it was a miracle that he wasn't more broken. He thought of tossing it aside, but he knew that would be an indication to his would-be killers of his present state of life. There was nothing else. Why didn't he have a wallet? Where was his ID?

He shivered suddenly and looked up to see that the sun had gone behind the trees. Well, at least he knew which way was west, for all the good that did him. He didn't have a clue which way he should head. If he was in the mountains, it could get cold tonight, and he was not in a position to flag down a random passerby, even if he could find a road. What did people do when they were stuck in the outdoors? He got the feeling that he'd never been much of an outdoorsman; so the fact that he had no idea wasn't entirely annoying, just inconvenient.

"Leaves," he said aloud. His voice sounded very lonely in this empty forest. "People burrow into leaf piles or something, don't they?" _Yes, and then they get leeches or ticks or something all over them_, he finished silently. He pulled himself back further into the bushes, brushing away the spiders' webs he found there. "Yuck. I'm never going to leave my apartment again." Hang on. An apartment, that felt right. Was there anything else in his head? Nope.

"Who am I?" he shouted to the world at large. The world didn't answer, but there were some nerve-wracking sounds of branches snapping. Human or animal? Which one was worse? He huddled. _Don't see me. Don't smell me. I'm not here,_ he thought. The branch-snapping stopped and then resumed. He was startled to see a largish rodent run into his clump of bushes.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked it. The rodent said nothing, but sniffed at this strange creature who had so impolitely halted its progress.

"Push off. I'm in here tonight," he said and waved his hand at the creature. It gave him one more sniff and a look that indicated it was less than impressed and continued on its way. He curled up into a ball and hoped he'd survive the night. His last conscious thought was a sudden longing to type something.


	2. Dreams or Memories?

**Chapter 2**

The images came in disturbing and disconnected waves.

A gray-haired man, only seen from the back, pointed at the remains of a burning wreck. "Photos!"

A dark-haired man, younger, said his name which he couldn't hear and then added, "You heard him! Get on it!" This earned him a smack on the head from the grey-haired man.

A dark-haired woman looked in his direction but said nothing.

The dream shifted to a strange room full of loud music and machinery. An equally-strange woman stood at a microscope and looked at him and said his name, but the music was so loud that he couldn't hear it. He shouted to her to say his name again. She just smiled and gave him a hug.

Another shift. Two more men with their backs turned to him, leaning over crates. He had something in his hand. A badge? Where was that? He saw the danger.

Another woman with dark hair, but different from the first woman, looked at him with a mischievous smile. Then, he saw her again, with a bullet hole in her head.

There was a gun in his hand. He looked at it in amazement. He felt danger creeping up on him. Drawing in his breath to scream, he opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. He shivered in the cold. His memories flared and died in his mind as he sat up and winced at the pull on his ribs, the ache in his legs and arms. Now, his head didn't feel very good either. He wondered how long he'd been asleep. Not long enough that was for sure. He felt awful. However, this would probably be the best time to be walking around. His dark jacket, even with the white lettering, would disguise him from seeking eyes.

He limped back to the river. His leg felt worse than it had the day before. He'd loosen up before long... he hoped. As he walked past the next set of rapids, he thought about his lack of memories. Who were those people he'd seen in his dreams? Were they friends or enemies? None of the women had seemed too bad. In fact, as strange as she had looked, the one in the lab, yes it was a lab, had also seemed like the nicest one. Had he killed the one who had been shot? He didn't know. The men, on the other hand, all had different levels of anxiety attached to them. But that first woman had seemed to be with the first two men. The other men had been alone. Who _were_ they? Which ones were the people trying to kill him?

He walked in the river, making very slow progress, as the sun came up and took the chill out of the air. He fell at least five times every hour. If anyone actually started pursuing him, he'd be in no shape to outrun them.


	3. Discovery

**Chapter 3**

"There was someone here, Boss. Look at these batteries," Tony said as he held up the discarded double As. "Think it was McGee?"

Gibbs looked up and down the river. The small bloodstains they had found on the rocks had made them all worried. "It was certainly someone. The question is where did he go."

"The trail leads to the river. How can we track him from there?"

"We have to guess." Gibbs climbed over the rocks to the river bank where Tim had gone into the river. "Where would McGee go?"

"Back to the crash site, for sure. That's upstream. He'd want to join up with us."

"So, did he fall?"

"Well, that's what I'd assume. The great outdoors isn't really McGee's area of expertise, and that cliff edge does come up rather abruptly."

"Hmmm..." Gibbs look at the footprints in the sandy bank. Tim wasn't an expert at avoiding detection, that much was obvious, but it seemed that he was injured as well. There was something more. Something they didn't know.

"Do you want to split up, Boss?" Tony asked. Gibbs didn't answer. "Gibbs?"

"What, Tony?"

"Should we split up?"

Gibbs considered. Ziva was with the park ranger. They could head back to the site and watch for Tim. Henson, the ranger, could call for some help in tracking Tim's whereabouts. That would take care of upstream. He and Tony could go downstream and see if they could find him that direction.

He pulled out his radio. "Ziva."

"Yes, Gibbs?"

"You and Henson head back to the crash. Watch for any sign of McGee on the way."

"Did you find something?"

"Batteries and a bloodstain. Tony and I will head downstream. Once you get back, check in with us and then call for a search team."

"What do you think happened?"

"Who knows?"

"Right." Ziva signed off and turned to Jack Henson. "Did you hear?"

"Yes," Jack said. As they headed back to the crash site, he commented, "This isn't a good part of the park to get lost in."

"Why not?"

"There aren't any hiking trails. It's a protected area; so there's no fishing allowed and only limited logging. He's unlikely to run into someone to help him. That's one of the reasons this wreck was so hard to get to. Is your man experienced?"

Ziva smirked. "He's experienced with computers, not with nature."

"Hopefully, that means that he'll be found quickly. Otherwise, it's a bad sign."

Ziva nodded. They reached the site half an hour later. Once again, she was amazed at how little the fire had damaged. The plane had crashed into a dense forest and yet not started a raging wildfire. Jack had said they were lucky. The Intermountain West had been hit with a drought the last few years and often a single match could end up burning hundreds of thousands of acres.

She looked around at the other workers and then at the plane itself. They were just getting all the bodies out now. No survivors and the cargo was missing. That had been why NCIS had been called out in the first place. Sensitive Navy cargo missing, presumed stolen from a mysterious plane crash. The local police had no desire to be in charge, and Ziva was beginning to understand the feeling. This was a mess... and now McGee was missing as well.

She pulled out her radio. "Gibbs?"

The radio crackled. "Are you at the site, Ziva?"

"Yes. Any sign of McGee?"

"Not yet, but DiNozzo will be needing dry clothes when we get back."

She grinned. "I copy that. You need the search team?"

"Probably. Let me talk to Henson."

Ziva looked over at Jack. "Henson! Gibbs needs to speak with you."

Jack came over and took the radio. "Yes, Agent Gibbs?"

"Are there any search and rescue people on your team?"

"Yes. Every one of them is certified and most have actual experience."

"Okay. Here's what I want to do. Leave the least experienced members at the site to continue cleaning up, and send your most experienced down to the river and start searching it upstream and downstream. We'll search as long as possible and meet back up at the site."

"Agent Gibbs, it's been almost a full day since Agent McGee went missing... do you want to know the odds?"

"No," Gibbs said curtly. "I don't care about the odds. I care about finding my agent."

"Yes, sir." Jack handed the radio back to Ziva and went off to marshal the other rangers.

"Anything else, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"Yes. I think McGee is running, although I have no idea why he didn't head back to camp."

"He could have been disoriented."

"Disoriented enough to forget that we are upstream, not down? Not even McGee would be that disoriented. There's something more."

"I agree. Do wish me to join in the search?"

"No. We need someone from NCIS at the site to keep track of things."

"I am to be a babysitter?"

"For now, yes, Officer David."

"Fine, Gibbs."

Gibbs shut off the radio with a sardonic grin at Ziva's lack of enthusiasm. It was going to be rough going through these trees. He took off his jacket. Even in the mountains, it was pretty hot for a black jacket. He looked over at Tony who was still nursing his bruised ego...as well as his bruised knee.

"Let's head out, Tony."

"Right, Boss." Tony removed his jacket as well and tied it around his waist. Then, he stood and squelched after Gibbs, embarrassed by his slip in the middle of the river.


	4. Fear of Discovery

**Chapter 4**

He'd been slogging through the river for hours now. He was exhausted, sore, and frightened. He was sitting on a rock near the edge of the river, finally taking the time to examine his wounds. His head felt like someone was playing a drum on his brain. He felt around his temple and hit a deep graze. From a bullet, maybe? That would explain why they thought he'd been shot. He had been, just not seriously. He pulled up the tattered remains of his pants and stared in horror at the hamburger that remained of his legs. They were a mass of bruises and cuts and scrapes. None were serious by themselves, but taken together explained well why his legs hurt. He took off his jacket which was also torn and examined his arms. They too were cut up although most of the damage was to his hands, in particular, the tips of his fingers. Hmmm...

His reflections were interrupted by the sound of someone... or something approaching. He stood and looked around. He wanted more than anything to talk to someone, but he didn't dare trust anyone out here. He looked out into the river and saw a place to hide. He slipped through the shallow water and quickly hid himself in the bushes on a large sandbar. He watched as two men walked out of the trees and down to the riverside. He didn't recognize them. He laughed silently at the thought. He probably wouldn't recognize his own mother if he saw her.

As he spied on the two men searching the bank, he began to think that he was going crazy. The men he saw were familiar, but he didn't know them. Part of him wanted to shout to them, but the louder, more insistent part wanted to curl into a little ball and hide. Instead, he watched as they walked along the bank. He could only guess that they were looking for him, but for what purpose, he didn't know. He hated this feeling. It was like he was two different people, but one of them was on holiday, leaving the other behind to clean up the mess. With a feeling of relief and anxiety, he watched the two men head back upstream as the sun sunk behind the trees again. Another very long day was ending.

"What am I going to do now?" he asked himself. He looked around the overgrown sandbar. This was a good enough place to spend the night. If he slept now, he could get a good start in the dark before the sun came up. Before he could prevent it, he started to wonder what would happen if he didn't get any treatment for his injuries. He was also hungry and thirsty. His stomach was protesting loudly at its emptiness. He had finally given in and taken a drink from the river once, but he wasn't sure how safe that water was.

"It's not that bad," he told himself sternly. "Gibbs has gone through much worse and been fine." He blinked. Where had the name Gibbs come from? He grasped desperately for more details on who this Gibbs might be. A friend? A colleague? Once again, his mind refused to give him any answers. He grumbled to himself and tried to find a comfortable position. It wasn't easy. It seemed that every position involved some measure of pain. Finally, he sighed and gave in to his exhaustion.


	5. Paranoid Dreams

**Chapter 5**

The dreams started at the site of the crash again. It was a small plane, every passenger dead. The faces were foggy this time. No one was in focus. He pulled his camera up to his eye and snapped a picture. When he pulled it down, he was in his apartment. There was no question that it was his: full of books, computer parts (_computers?_), records, a typewriter. That last was very important. He took a few steps toward it, and the apartment dissolved into a cliff. When he turned around, the two men he'd seen on the bank were there, bending over some crates. The grey-haired man pulled a gun and pointed it at him. He took a step backward, putting up his hand in a fruitless attempt to stop the bullet. Then, the world shifted suddenly, and he was falling. Falling into nothingness, into blackness...

He opened his eyes and saw only darkness and felt only cold. He uncurled himself with a muffled groan. His body certainly wasn't appreciating this treatment. He couldn't say that he disagreed either. He sat up and looked longingly toward the river. What was that disease you could get from drinking contaminated water? Giardia or something? He rationalized to himself that being sick was better than dying of thirst, and yet, he stared at the water and tried not to think about what animals had been doing in it upstream.

He shuddered and decided that he wasn't all that thirsty, struggled to his feet and limped to the river. Every step was pure agony at this point. He hadn't taken off his shoes, but he really didn't want to know if his feet were any more than simply sore. His pants, on the other hand, were continually rubbing the wounds on his legs. The bag on his back felt like a ton of bricks. He looked at his body again and decided that a lot of this must be due to whatever had happened to him. He was no muscle man by any means, but he looked... sort of fit. He wondered what his face looked like. He couldn't form an image of himself. That wasn't really important right now, but he found that he couldn't tear his mind away from the fact that he knew absolutely nothing of any import. The unplumbed depths had given up a few tidbits of information: the name Gibbs, an apartment, something about a plane crash, the fact that he was in the mountains. All of this, however, did not add up to anything substantial. It told him nothing about who he could trust. All he knew right now was that, after the dream he'd had, if he saw those two men again, he'd run from them.


	6. Reunion?

**Chapter 6**

"DiNozzo! Over here!" Gibbs shouted from the sandbar. The search parties had resumed at first light, and Gibbs and Tony had made their way back to the place at which they had ended the night before.

"What is it, Boss?" Tony asked. He splashed across the river to the clump of bushes where Gibbs was crouched.

"Someone spent the night here. Look at all these broken branches. There's also blood here."

Tony looked. "That's a small space for McGee, though, Boss. He would've had to scrunch up quite a bit. If he was here last night, why didn't he see us?"

"I don't know. He moved on a few hours ago. Did you find any sign of him coming out of the river over there?"

Tony shook his head. He was no great tracker, but the bank was soft and there were definitely no signs of any place that Tim had come out.

"He must be walking in the river. _Why_ is he still going downstream?"

"Maybe he's following whoever stole the cargo."

"I doubt it. McGee wouldn't risk it, and why would he try to cover up where he was going?"

"I don't know, Boss. If this _is_ McGee we're following, I have no idea why he'd be avoiding detection."

"Well, he's still limping," Gibbs observed from the tracks Tim had left. "We should be able to catch up with him fairly easily. Let's go."

Tony nodded and pulled out his radio. "Ziva, you read me?"

The radio crackled and Ziva's voice came back. "That's yet another Americanism that makes no sense, Tony. How can you _read_ something that is spoken?"

"It's what we say," Tony replied. "We've found more traces of McGee. We should catch him up in a few hours."

"Good. There's no sign of the cargo so far. Henson says that whoever took it must have seen the plane go down and not reported it. Otherwise, they wouldn't have known where to come. And I say that they probably took down the plane themselves. Someone randomly coming on the scene would not know what was in the plane."

"Definitely true. Right we'll check in later on. 10-4. Is that in your vocabulary?"

"Certainly, Tony. Those are simply numbers. I am well familiar with them," Ziva said and turned off the radio.

Tony sighed good-naturedly to himself. Sometimes, he wondered if Ziva just pretended to not understand English idioms. He looked up and saw that Gibbs was halfway across the river. Quickly, he ran to catch up.

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Ziva looked up from her perusal of the latest crime scene photos and saw a couple of the rangers who had been searching upstream of where Gibbs and Tony had found the batteries. They seemed to be excited about something.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Officer David, we found Agent McGee's radio and his wallet!" one of them said.

"Where?"

"About half a mile from here. The radio was on a cliff and the wallet was just a little downstream from there."

"Show me," she ordered tersely. "Henson! I'm going to check out the place where McGee must have fallen," she called across the clearing.

Henson barely looked up from his examination of a set of remains that had yet to be removed from the site. "Fine. Let me know what you find."

Ziva stalked off after the over-excited rangers.

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He fell down for the umpteenth time and an agonized curse slipped from his lips. He wasn't sure he could get up this time. He'd been walking for hours through this river, but it felt like he was making no progress at all. He was hungry and thirsty and he still had no clue who he was. There was a jabbing pain in his side that throbbed in synchronization with the pain in his head and just off-time from the throbbing in his legs. Even taking a breath was pure agony. Now that he had passed the bulk of the rapids, the river had deepened. He was walking in water that usually came up above his knees. Only the realization that the camera he was carrying would be getting wet forced him to struggle back to his feet. For a long while he simply stood in the water, feeling it rush by. The rocky bottom offered little in the way of traction, and he just didn't have the stability needed to take confident steps. He sighed and then winced.

_I'm so tired. I'm so tired,_ he thought. He looked about 100 feet down the river. There was a large rock right in the middle. _I'll walk to that and then rest._

A painful twenty minutes later, he neared the rock, hardly noticing that the water was getting deeper. He took one more step and fell as the riverbed suddenly angled downward. The water went over his head and he panicked, thrashing wildly to get out of the dip. Flailing with no regard for his pain, his feet finally found purchase on the ground and his head emerged above the water. Casting aside any concern for leaving tracks, he made his way to the riverbank and collapsed just beyond the water's edge. Utterly spent, he buried his aching head in his arms and began to cry tears as much from fear as from pain.

"I can't do this anymore," he said aloud. "I just can't." He sobbed until he had no more tears left and then fell into an exhausted sleep.

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Even in his exhaustion, he dreamed. They were full of the same images in his previous dreams, but there were more people. A man leaning over a body, covered in blood and talking to the corpse. He backed away from the image and turned to see a much younger man, dressed in scrubs giving goo-goo eyes to a young woman who was grinning flirtatiously at him.

He looked around and saw a set of doors. He ran toward them and was immediately in a plane, surrounded by the same men he'd seen before and one of the women. He seemed to be separate from them. Was he a prisoner? Was this the same plane from the crash?

The scene shifted again to the crates in the woods. A horde of people surrounded them. They all had guns and began shooting at each other. The first to hit the ground was the same woman he'd seen dead before. She disappeared just after she fell. More and more people were killed and then, it was just him and four men. The others stared at each other and then turned to him and raised their guns once more.

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He awoke to the sound of voices. Immediately, he was alert and tried to make his body move. He had no idea how long he'd been sleeping, but he knew he couldn't be found. He opened his eyes and forced himself to sit up. His muscles screamed in protest and it was all he could do not to do the same. He couldn't suppress a loud moan.

"I think I heard something, Boss. Over this way."

_Oh no,_ he thought. He stood and began to limp away as quickly as he could. It was no use going into the river... unless... if he tried to swim with the current, maybe he could get to the other side and away from them. It was as good a plan as any. He turned to the river and splashed loudly into the center where the current was the strongest. Of course, he slipped and went under the water. The current was faster now.

"McGee!" he heard as he broke the surface again.

The voice was closer now. He couldn't resist turning his head back to see who was coming. The two men reached the riverbank and he saw the same two men from his dreams and who had been following him. He panicked and tried to stand and run away. They had seen him!

"McGee! Wait!"

He turned away from the men and looked down the river. There seemed to be an edge to the water. Another waterfall. Now completely freaked out, he had no idea what would be worse: letting these men catch him or going over what was probably his second waterfall in the last three days. He floundered toward the far bank, weakly fighting the current that was carrying him downstream. Behind him, he heard the splashing of the men coming after him. That stirred him to struggle harder against the current. The water was getting deeper and faster. It was up to his chest now and it was difficult to move through it.

"McGee!"

They were closing in on him. He couldn't move fast enough. Panting heavily, he could hear them getting closer and closer. Then, once again, he stepped into a hole and slipped under the water with a strangled yelp. He couldn't get his feet on the ground and he felt himself being taken closer and closer to the edge. Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out of the water.

"No! No!" he shouted as soon as he broke the surface. "Leave me alone! Let me go!"

The men ignored his protests and pulled him painfully to the bank. Once they reached the shore, they set him down on the ground. He wanted to run, but all his strength left him as he stared in terror at these two unfamiliar/familiar men.

"McGee, what's wrong with you?"

He tried to pull away from them and back away. He wasn't thinking clearly and he couldn't seem to calm down. He saw their guns. Neither one was drawing... yet.

"McGee, are you okay?" The younger one leaned over him. His gun was within reach. Using every scrap of strength he had left, he lunged at the man and grabbed his gun. He pointed it at them.

"Don't kill me," he whimpered weakly.

The two men looked at each other with concern, their hands up.

"What are you talking about, McGee?" the younger man asked, a grin on his face. "If we were going to kill you, we would have done it a long time ago."

That was not comforting. He simply stared in alarm and cocked the gun. The smile faded from the younger man's face.

He tried to stand and back away from them, all the while waving the gun back and forth between them. He managed to get to his feet, but running was absolutely out of the question. He took one step backwards and cried out in pain. Both men took a step toward him, but he recovered and waved the gun again. "No, don't touch me."

"What are you going to do now, McGee?"

It suddenly occurred to him that they meant him. McGee must be his name... for all it was worth, which wasn't much.

Black spots flashed in his eyes. He was fading; he could feel it. He struggled to stay conscious. "Who are you and why are you following me?" he demanded. He swayed a little, but remained upright.

The men looked at each other again. "Why wouldn't we be following you? You're part of our team. What happened to you, McGee?" the older one asked.

The radio at the older one's waist began to crackle. "Gibbs? Gibbs, are you there?"

Gibbs. That name he had remembered. "You are Gibbs?" he whispered, in confusion.

"Yes, McGee."

It was getting very hard to focus, the two men kept blurring and shifting in his view. "Then, who am I?" he asked plaintively. Then, the gun slipped from his hands and he sank to the ground.


	7. Revelations About A Stranger

**Chapter 7**

"Gibbs? Gibbs?"

Gibbs gestured to Tony to go over to Tim and unclipped his radio. "Yes, Ziva. I'm here."

"What happened?"

"We found McGee."

"And?"

"And, he apparently doesn't remember us."

"Why?"

"I don't know yet. It's too late to get him back before dark. We'll camp out here tonight and then head back in the morning. Tell Henson to call back the search parties."

"Will do. Two rangers found the place where McGee must have gone into the river. I don't think he slipped."

"What did you find?"

"They found McGee's wallet and radio. In the same place as the radio, there's an old logging trail. The grass near the trail is all tamped down. It could be from the plane's cargo. I contacted the local police to have them on alert, but we don't know who we're on alert for at the moment. My theory is that he startled them and they somehow forced him over the cliff and into the water."

"Until McGee can tell us more, that's as good a theory as any." Gibbs looked over at Tony who had put his gun back in his holster and rolled Tim over on his back. "We'll check back at nightfall. Talk to Henson and see what kind of vehicles could be expected to use those logging trails, particularly when loaded down."

"Right." Ziva clicked off.

Gibbs turned his attention back on Tim. "Well?"

Tony looked up. "He's hurt pretty bad, Gibbs. He has at least one, probably two, broken ribs, his legs are hashed, and there's a nasty gash on his head. He did pretty well avoiding us for the last two days."

"Yeah." He knelt down and checked Tony's diagnoses. None of the injuries were life-threatening, but Tim would be in a world of hurt until they could get him to a hospital. "Patch him up as well as you can. Is that bag his?"

"Yeah," Tony answered as he got out his first aid kit. The amount of bandaging available seemed pretty pitiful in comparison to the number of lacerations on Tim's legs and hands. "Boss, I don't know if we'll have enough to cover all these."

"Do the best you can. Take my kit, too." He tossed it to Tony and then opened the bag. All the evidence they'd collected was there along with the camera, which was missing its batteries. The camera was not working, but the memory card was still in it. He wondered how McGee had known to keep it if he truly didn't remember anything.

Tony managed to bandage up the worst of Tim's injuries, but there were more wounds still visible than not. He wondered again what had happened.

"We going to camp out here, Boss?"

He nodded. "It's a good spot. I'll get a fire going; you can get the bedding set up for McGee. He'll be needing it a lot more than we will."

Tony grumbled a little but nodded. Wherever Tim had been sleeping the last few nights had not been luxurious by any stretch of the imagination.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He opened his eyes, half expecting to be tied up or dead, and was surprised to find that he was laying on blankets and was covered by blankets as well. Then, he remembered something of what had happened earlier.

"My name is McGee," he told himself. Why did that make so little difference? Shouldn't he remember everything now? _I guess it's only in the movies_, he thought grimly.

"Awake already, McGee?"

The voice startled him and he tensed and started to sit up. Gentle hands pushed him back. He looked up and saw the man called Gibbs.

"Stay down. You're in no shape to be running around for a little while," he said. Then, he grinned and continued, "Besides, you're naked right now, and I have no desire to see that. Tony didn't either, but I didn't give him the choice. You needed to be dry."

His face went bright red even though he didn't know who Tony was. He tried to think of something to say.

"Am I a prisoner?"

"Of course not."

"Then, do you have any water?" He tried to phrase the question as nonchalantly as possible, but he was almost frantic for something to drink.

Wordlessly, the man handed him a canteen. He grabbed it and gulped down nearly the entire contents, choking occasionally in his eagerness. The man crouched by him and pulled the canteen back.

"Slow down, McGee. There's time enough to rehydrate."

Immediately, he was wary again. "Why did you help me?" he asked.

"McGee, tell me what happened to you."

"I can't," he admitted and struggled into a sitting position. "Please, who am I? If you know me, tell _me_ who I am."

Gibbs scrutinized his agent. That bewildered look in his eyes was unfeigned. He wasn't kidding.

"Your name is Timothy McGee. You have been a member of my NCIS team for the last three years. You are a computer expert, and a famous author."

"What?"

"You wrote a bestseller called _Deep Six_ under a pseudonym. However, you still work for me."

"Why?"

"I guess you like it."

He waited for more, but Gibbs didn't add anything more. "That's who I am? A computer expert who works for NCIS and wrote a novel?"

"That's generally who you are. I can tell you from personal experience that no one knows who you really are, except you."

"But I _don't_ know who I am. I don't know you either."

"You knew my name," Gibbs pointed out.

"But I don't know why."

"Well, what _do_ you know?"

He hesitated. This Gibbs had seemed forthcoming, but who was he to judge? Maybe it was all an elaborate ruse.

"Still don't trust me, huh?"

"Can you blame me? For all I know, you could be one of the men trying to kill me. You _were_ in my dream."

"Someone is trying to kill you?" Gibbs repeated. That was something new. Definite confirmation that he hadn't just fallen into the river.

"Yes. At least, I think so. They were talking about shooting someone and throwing him into the river, and I was the only person around. I figured it was a safe assumption that I was the one they were talking about."

"You're probably right. If you don't remember anything, why did you keep this bag?" Gibbs asked, pointing to the backpack by the fire.

"I don't know. I just knew that it was important. What is it?"

"It's evidence from the case we've been working."

"Is it a plane crash?"

"Yes," Gibbs didn't ask, but he eyes did.

"I dreamed it... but I dreamed you trying to kill me, too. I don't know what is real and what isn't! I just don't understand what is going on," he flushed as he noted the plaintive tone in his voice.

"I can't _make_ you believe me, McGee."

"I can't make _myself_ believe you, either, Gibbs." When he said the name, it felt strange on his tongue as if he was used to using a different name. "Where does that leave us?"

"At an impasse, it looks like."

He seemed so blase about the whole thing. As if it didn't matter to him whether he believed or not. It was so frustrating. He wanted desperately to believe Gibbs, but he couldn't.

"Can I have my clothes back?"

Gibbs held back a smile and grabbed Tim's clothes from where they had been drying. The shoes in particular were a bit damp, but there was no reason he couldn't get back some of his dignity. He handed them to Tim and turned back to the fire. As he jabbed the coals, his radio crackled again.

"Gibbs?"

"Ziva, you're up early."

Ziva ignored the observation. "Henson just informed me that there is a logging trail near the river where you are. If you wish to get a ride back part of the way, he will send a car to get you."

He looked over his shoulder and back quickly. "That's probably a good idea. I don't think McGee is up to a long day of hiking."

"Is he ever?" she asked facetiously.

"When will they get there?"

"It will be a couple of hours. The ranger will have to come from base camp."

"Alright. Let him know we'll be there."

Ziva gave the location of the trail and signed off.

Gibbs returned the radio to the clip on his waist and turned around. Tim was in his shirt and boxers, but he was staring at his legs. Even with the bandages covering the worst scrapes, they were a sight to behold, that was for sure.

"How did I do this to myself?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, McGee. You tell me."

"I can't."

"Maybe you just don't want to know," Gibbs observed.

Stung, he looked up at him. "How can you think that? Do you have any idea what it's like to not know who you are?"

"Actually, McGee, I do know... at least, in part."

When Gibbs didn't go on, he said, "I feel like I've been thrown into the middle of a play, but I don't know my lines or the plot."

"Then, why aren't you trying to remember?"

"What do you think I've been doing these last days?"

"Feeling sorry for yourself is what it looks like," Gibbs said. He was deliberately goading Tim because it was interesting to see him react without any of the life experiences that had made him so hesitant. It was also possible that he'd remember things without realizing it.

"I haven't! I've been trying to stay alive. I've been trying to remember something beyond the fact that I seem to have a typewriter, that I'm in the mountains somewhere, that there was a plane crash. You told me that I'm Timothy McGee, but that means absolutely nothing to me. I don't know who Timothy McGee is! All I discovered is that I'm no good in the outdoors and that I am a part of NCIS which I know means Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I can't tell you what I like to do. I can't tell you if I am in love with anyone. I can't tell you _anything_ of value." He stopped, panting and wincing as he tried to take deep breaths to calm down.

Gibbs looked over at Tony's motionless form. He was out and probably would be until Gibbs kicked him. Although he seemed pretty sympathetic, one never knew how Tony would horde tidbits of information only to bring them out later as weapons.

"You said that you've had dreams, McGee. What are they about?"

"They don't make any sense," he said belligerently.

"Try me."

"Why?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Because maybe I can help you make sense of some of it."

"Fine. They all start at the plane crash and there are always a bunch of people around that I don't know."

"Like?"

"You and that other guy, the one I took the gun from."

"Tony."

"Right. Tony."

"Then, there's a woman who is at the crash. She never said anything."

"That would probably be Ziva."

"Why?"

"Because she's at the crash site and she's on the team."

"Oh. I also saw a woman who was shot through the head. First, she was alive and happy; then, she was dead and disappeared."

"Kate."

He turned the name over in his mind. "I didn't kill her, did I?"

"_No_."

Something in Gibbs' voice kept him from asking for details. She must really be dead. "Good. Then, there's this strangely-dressed woman in a lab. There's really loud music and she seems to like giving hugs."

"Abby. She works in forensics."

"Abby? That name doesn't seem to fit her."

"Believe me. It does. Anyone else?"

He shuddered. "There was this guy who was talking to a corpse and was covered in blood."

Gibbs chuckled at that description and Tim's obvious revulsion. "That would be Ducky. He's the M.E."

"M.E.?" He wracked his brain. "Medical Examiner? He does autopsies?"

"Yes. Very good, McGee. He also enjoys having conversations with dead bodies. It's a habit because very few among the living have the patience to listen to all his stories."

"Oh. I also saw two other people in the same room. Male and female and they were obviously flirting."

"Michelle Lee and Jimmy Palmer. Lee works in Legal and Palmer is Ducky's assistant."

Tim thought about the people who were apparently his colleagues. It sounded like NCIS was staffed by people from the circus. "This seems like a very strange place. Are you sure I belong there?"

"You do, McGee. Any other details?"

"There are two other men, but I only see them around the stack of crates. The first time they were alone and had guns. The second time, they were there with you and... Tony. You all tried to shoot me. Then, I fell."

"And after that?"

"After that, nothing. I always wake up." He looked off toward the river. "This isn't what I thought would happen."

"What do you mean, McGee?"

He looked back to Gibbs. "I thought that once I saw someone I knew I'd remember everything, that it would all come back. Instead, it feels like you're telling me about the life of a stranger. Why don't I remember?"

"I'm not an expert. You haven't asked about your family, you know."

He looked away again. "I don't want to know."

"Why not?"

"I don't remember them. It will be worse if I actually have a family and don't know who they are. So don't tell me."

"Okay. If that's the way you want it."

"I do," he said firmly. "When do we leave?"

"How fast can you walk right now?"

"How far did I get?"

"About twelve miles."

"Not that fast." For the first time, he smiled. It was a humorless smile, but it was an expression.

"Then, we'd better get going as soon as you eat something." Gibbs turned back to the fire. He walked over to Tony's sleeping form and nudged him. "Wake up, DiNozzo. We're getting a ride back to base camp."

"Yes, Boss," Tony said before his eyes even opened. He sat up and noticed Tim staring at him intently. "What, McGee? Is there something on my face?"

"Other than drool, no. I'm just trying to remember you, since we apparently are acquainted."

Tony hurriedly wiped his mouth. "Acquainted? We've worked together for nearly four years."

He cocked his head to one side. "Are we on good terms?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious. I'm trying to learn about a stranger."

Tony gave Gibbs a sideways glance. Any attempt to lead Tim around by the nose would not work. In any case, Tim looked frankly skeptical about anything he was learning now. For whatever reason, Tony would not try to lie. This Tim was as much a stranger to Tony as he was to himself.

"Generally, yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that we don't always get along. You're the probie, and that's how I treat you."

"How long does a probationary status last at NCIS? After three years, shouldn't I be beyond that?"

Tony actually found himself at a loss to explain why Tim was still a _probie_.

Tim looked away from the two men and lapsed into silence. He didn't speak during breakfast and the only sound he made was a small exclamation when he had to stand up. He refused any help from Gibbs and Tony even when he nearly fell after tripping over a tree root. As much as he wanted to believe that they were really his friends and colleagues, he had become overly paranoid during the last few days, and he couldn't just believe them.


	8. A Small Reconnection

**Chapter 8**

Ziva noticed the change in Tim as soon as they reached base camp. There was something missing from his face. She couldn't put a name to it unless she made up a word, which she generally avoided since she didn't seem to make up English words well. Tim was missing his essential McGee-ness, leaving someone suspicious and frightened behind. He looked at her as if assessing a complete stranger, and she found that she hated it.

"What is wrong with you, McGee?"

As he climbed gingerly out of the jeep, he looked at Ziva and asked another question. "Where are you from? You don't sound like an American."

"I'm from Israel, as you well know."

"Not right now, I don't," he said gruffly. "At least, you really exist."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, he limped by her, unerringly walking in the direction of the crash.

"Where are you going, McGee?" Gibbs asked. He'd been talking to Henson.

"I thought you said I wasn't a prisoner," he retorted.

"You're not."

"Then, leave me alone, Gibbs." Without another word he resumed his walk.

Ziva was shocked at Tim's lack of respect. She looked at Tony who just shrugged. She took a step after Tim.

Gibbs stopped her and said, "Let him go, Ziva. He needs to assimilate."

Ziva looked after him worriedly. "I don't like this, Gibbs."

"Neither do I, but I can't make him trust us. Right now, trust is the last thing on his mind. Give him some time."

-------------------------------------------------------------

He heard the conversation going on behind him, but he didn't stop. This wasn't his regular attitude. He could tell by the look on Ziva's face. An Israeli. Gibbs had failed to mention that piece of information. The ranger had insisted on helping him into the jeep and had made him sit and get more bandaged up. He had to admit that after eating, drinking and not bleeding, he felt much better. If only his mind could be fixed so easily. He walked for about an hour and was surprised when he came upon the crash from his dreams.

"It's real," he said and began to walk around it. He heard someone clear their throat behind him and he spun quickly, then sucked in his breath at the sharp twinge in his chest. It was the one named Ziva. "What are you doing here?" he asked and then in suspicion, he added, "Why are you following me?"

"I thought you might like to have your wallet back," Ziva said simply. She held it out.

Warily, he approached her and took it. "Why?"

"It is yours, McGee."

For the first time, he softened. Only a little, but it was something. "Thanks."

She nodded and then left him alone in the clearing. Ziva didn't head back to camp, but let Tim have the illusion of solitude.

He looked at the wallet. This was something that was his. He opened it and hesitated before turning to the photo section. There weren't many and the ones in there had suffered some water damage. That girl from the lab was in his wallet!

"Why is there a picture of Abby in my wallet?" he asked himself. The pricking of a memory kept him from moving past it. "Sciuto. Abby Sciuto. She's a Goth and I got a tattoo for her." Even though he thought he was alone, he blushed when he realized where that tattoo was. He pieced together a few more bits of data. "Tony didn't think we could work. He was right in a way." Then, the memories slipped away again.

In frustration he kicked a nearby rock as hard as he could and shouted, "Why? Why can't I remember everything?"

Ziva watched him and winced in quiet sympathy as he wrapped an arm around his chest and sat down on a log.

He flipped through the rest of the pictures and saw little to tell him who these people were. He went back to his badge and ran his fingers over it. Somehow, this felt like the most important thing. He stared at it for a long time. A flash of memory washed over him.

_Walking through the forest, he heard a sound, someone talking. He went toward it, thinking it was one of the rangers. The sudden clearing took him by surprise... as did the man standing by a stack of crates. It was hard to tell who was more surprised. Tim recovered first._

_He took in the Navy seal on the crates, the guilty look on the man's face and pulled out his badge and gun. "NCIS, freeze!"_

_The man put his hands up immediately, but didn't look at all worried. Tim started to turn to see if anyone else was nearby and faced a gun pointed right at his head._

"_I'll take that gun," the other man said, suiting actions to words._

The memory faded again. He tried desperately to follow it, but it was gone. One thing was clear from that memory, he realized, looking down at his badge again. He _was_ Timothy, no Tim, McGee and he worked for NCIS. But the identity of all these other people was still in question. He sat on the log until dusk, thinking. Wishing that he could remember. He just didn't know who he was supposed to be. He felt like he couldn't react to anything because he didn't know how he was supposed to react.

He looked up when he heard someone entering the clearing. It was the Israeli, Ziva.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. He grimaced at the suspicion tone of the question. Would he ever get rid of this paranoia?

"I am worried about you, McGee."

Afraid to show his own fear to a total stranger, Tim asked, "Why?"

"Because what I am seeing is not the man I know. You look like McGee, but you do not act like him."

Tim stared at Ziva for a long time. Then, he dropped his head into his hands and said, "How _should_ I be acting? I don't know what I should say or what I should do. The few things I've remembered are so scattered that I can't piece myself together."

"What _do_ you remember, McGee?" Ziva approached him cautiously and sat down on the log.

"Nothing much. I saw you in a dream. I saw Gibbs and Tony and Abby, and then three other people named Ducky, Jimmy and Michelle. I saw them, but even though I know that there is something in my head about them, I don't _know_ anything."

"You're a nice person, McGee. You were the first to really accept me when I started to work at NCIS."

Tim's head came up. "When was that?" he asked.

"Almost three years ago now."

"Why did you start working at NCIS?"

"That's a long story and most of it doesn't involve you."

"So, I didn't know before either?"

"No." It was said with finality; there was no invitation to question further.

"Why didn't people accept you before? Because you're from Israel?"

Ziva glared at him, but she saw only genuine confusion and softened her expression. "I took the place of Kate Todd. She..."

"She died. Someone killed her, shot her through the head," Tim finished. Then, he grimaced in frustration and smacked his own head. "Why can I only get these little pieces? Why can't I remember everything?"

"I do not know, McGee, but I do not think that you will find the answers out here."

Tim looked around. It was getting dark, and he knew for certain that he didn't want to spend another night in the forest. And yet... "This is all I know, Ziva."

Ziva stood and held out her hand to Tim. "You will remember, McGee, but until you do, do not be afraid to relearn."

Tim looked up at the proffered hand. He hesitated and then took it. He could tell how strong Ziva must be by the apparent lack of effort she expended while pulling him up. The painkillers had worn off now, and he let out a moan of pain.

"Sorry, McGee. I forgot about your injuries."

"That's okay. They're not life-threatening."

"I'm sure they are painful, yes?"

"That's true."

"Come, then." Before he could resist, she pulled him close enough to allow him to lean on her. They made faster progress that way. However, before they reached the campsite, Ziva pulled away.

When Tim looked at her in confusion, she said mischievously, "Do you not wish for Tony and Gibbs to think you fully capable?"

Tim smiled, the first real smile she'd seen. "Thank you, Ziva."

"What is the saying? Turnabout is fair play?"

"Yes, that's the saying." He paused as another piece floated to the surface. "You get those wrong quite often, don't you? Idioms, I mean."

Ziva grimaced good-naturedly. "Yes, I do."

Tim laughed a little, but his good mood faded noticeably when they reached the camp and he saw Gibbs and Tony seated at the fire. He had managed to make a new connection, or at least reforge an old one, with Ziva. These other two, however, he could not forget the air of danger that surrounded them in his dreams, as if they were with the other two men he'd seen. He recognized that it was only a dream, but according to Gibbs, some of his dream had reflected reality and in his current state, he couldn't tell which parts were real and which part were fake. The conversation ebbed when he sank gratefully onto a camp chair, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say to get it going again. They sat for a short time in silence and then scattered to their respective tents... except for Tim. He stayed, staring at the campfire long after everyone else was in bed.


	9. This Is Who They Are?

**Chapter 9**

"McGee, what are you still doing up?"

Startled, Tim turned his gaze from the coals of the fire and blinked the glare out of his eyes. It was Gibbs. He tried to quash the feelings of fear and resentment, coupled with an intense feeling of inadequacy and embarrassment, that welled up in him. He couldn't explain those emotions.

"Sitting," he said. Then, he winced at the belligerent tone and sighed. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"What do I say about apologies, McGee?"

The reply was on his lips before he even formed a conscious thought. "They're a sign of weakness."

Gibbs smiled. "That's right." He stirred the fire a little and then turned away.

Tim hesitated and then said, "Gibbs?"

"Yes, McGee?"

"What did you mean?"

"About what?"

"You said that you knew how I felt. What did you mean?"

Gibbs turned back. "I temporarily lost about fifteen years of my life."

"How?"

"An explosion."

Another memory clicked into place. "On a ship?"

Gibbs nodded. "I had to find out all over again that my wife and daughter had been killed and grieve as if it had just happened yesterday."

"How did you remember?"

"I remembered things out of necessity. There was an important case that I had information on and I was forced to remember. It wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary."

"Do I have... something like that?"

"Like what?"

Tim swallowed. "Like what happened to you... to your family. Is there something like that in my past?"

"No, McGee. You have your share of sad memories, but you aren't married and you don't have children... at least, not that you've seen fit to mention in the last four years."

"Then, why can't _I_ remember? You remembered; why can't I?"

"I guess you're not ready to remember."

Tim stood up, wincing involuntarily, and faced Gibbs, angry at himself and at Gibbs. "I _am_. I hate this feeling, this not-knowing. I look at you and at Ziva and at Tony and I think that I should be saying certain things, doing certain things, thinking certain things about you all, but I don't. I have vague impressions of emotions, but nothing real, nothing to hang onto. What do I do, Gibbs? What do I do?"

"I can't tell you that, McGee. This is something _you_ have to deal with. From what little I know, amnesia is a tricky thing. It could be permanent; or, everything could come back to you tomorrow. You know that the memories are there. You access them unconsciously every time you are able to bring some little bit to the foreground. I don't think that trying to force yourself will help much though."

"But I don't want to stay like this, Gibbs."

"You won't, McGee. Just give it some time. Go to bed."

Tim shook his head and sat back down by the glowing embers. "I'm not tired."

"Do you want some company?"

Tim looked into the dying fire and said, "No. I just want to think."

Gibbs nodded as if he understood what Tim meant and returned to his tent. "We'll be heading back to town tomorrow morning and we'll get you checked out at a real hospital."

Tim just nodded and didn't look up. He stared at the coals as they flickered and died. The sky was brightening when he finally drifted off to sleep, slumping in the camp chair.

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He dreamed. As soon as his conscious mind went on break, his unconscious mind took over. Images swirled through his dreams, but too quickly to be understood. Tim sat watching as if it were a movie, but the reels were out of order and damaged and on fast forward. He couldn't take any of it in. Then, the swirling stopped and he was in a glass cage, pounding with all his might. He shouted and shouted. In the way of dreams, suddenly, he wasn't alone. Gibbs, Ziva and Tony stood outside the cage pointing at him. He begged them to let him out, pleaded with them to break the glass. They just pointed and started laughing.

"Let me out! Let me out!" he shouted. They didn't listen. Another woman appeared, standing right in front of him, just outside the glass. She was young, younger than he was and he knew who she was, but he didn't know. She put her hand on the glass, with her fingers splayed. Tim stopped pounding and did the same, but as soon as he touched the glass where her hand was, he was back in the forest.

"NCIS! Freeze!" he heard himself say. There were crates with the Navy insignia on them. Two men, one had his gun; the other was laughing and pointing. He was going to be shot with his own gun.

"NO!"

"McGee! Wake up!" The voice seemed to echo through the trees and the image froze. Someone was shaking him, and the image flickered and faded into darkness. Still, the shaking continued.

"McGee! You're dreaming. Wake up!"

Tim forced his eyes open and found himself staring into the eyes of the man Gibbs had identified as Tony. He leaned backward, away from him, and would have toppled the camp chair if Tony hadn't grabbed it.

Tony righted the chair, then backed off and said, "Good morning, McGee."

Tim forced himself to calm down. No one here was trying to hurt him. "Good morning... Tony."

"You know this reminds me of a movie."

The seemingly random nature of the comment made Tim curious enough to ask, "What movie?"

"Actually, a couple of them. There's a classic Hitchcock movie with Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck called _Spellbound_. It's about a man who has a traumatic experience and forgets who he is. In his state of amnesia, he takes on the persona of a man he saw die. The whole movie is about how he and Ingrid Bergman fall in love while they try to find out who he is."

"So, who am I going to fall in love with?" Tim asked.

Tony chuckled. "I'll admit the comparison is a bit strained in that respect."

"What's the other movie?"

"It's called _The Long Kiss Goodnight_. Geena Davis plays an amnesiac who _was_ this amazingly skilled assassin. Then, someone tried to kill _her_ and she forgot who she was, but latched onto this alter ego she had used. Get this: she was a housewife. She got married and had a daughter, volunteered in the PTA."

Tim furrowed his brow. "So, you're saying I'm some sort of combination of Geena Davis and Gregory Peck? That's not exactly comforting... or flattering."

"They're movies, McGee. They're supposed to be representations of real life, not real life itself."

"Oh? You know many amnesiacs, Tony?"

"You're missing the point, Probie. It's a metaphor."

"I think that I'm not the only one missing a screw." He looked down. "What time is it?"

"Oh, about five. Too early."

"Why are you up, then?"

"Because you were moaning in your sleep. That's not conducive to _my_ sleep."

"Sorry. I had a... a dream."

"What were you dreaming?"

Tim still didn't look up, but he flushed at the question. "Nothing important."

Tony sat down across from him. "Come on, McGee. As Dr. Alex Brulov said in _Spellbound, _well he said a lot of things including 'Any husband of Constance is a husband of mine,' but that's not really important. He said, 'Good night and sweet dreams... which we'll analyze in the morning.' It's now morning. So? What?"

Somehow, Tim knew that Tony would not give up once he got on the track of finding out about Tim's dream. He sighed to himself and mumbled, "I was locked in a glass box. I could see you and Gibbs and Ziva. I asked you to let me out, but you wouldn't. Then, I saw someone else. I knew her then, but I don't now. When I reached out to touch her hand, I was in the forest. I saw two men. One of them was about to shoot me with my gun. That's when you woke me up."

The silence that followed his recital caused Tim to look up and meet Tony's gaze, which, to his surprise, was sympathetic rather than teasing. Neither spoke for a few seconds, but Tim found himself blurting out, "I don't want to be... no one, Tony. That's who I am right now: no one. I'm nothing and I don't know how to change it."

"You're not nothing, McGee. You have a small problem right now, but it won't last forever. You'll remember."

"What if I don't? What if I'm like this forever?"

"You won't be."

"How do you know that, though? It's a possibility, isn't it?"

"Sure, it's a possibility, but you'll remember."

Tim had a flash of intuition which told him Tony was saying this as much for his own benefit as for Tim's. Suddenly, he could see that Tony didn't want to think about the possibility that he would not be back to normal. He could also see that Tony would never admit to feeling that way because it wasn't macho. Tim found himself wondering if he was this astute in normal circumstances.

"I'll take your word for it. Right now, I'm not feeling so optimistic."

"Okay, I'll be optimistic for the both of us. How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Like I got hit by a truck. If I stop breathing my chest doesn't hurt, but there's an obvious drawback there. If I don't move my head or my legs, they only throb slightly. Are you sure these things aren't life-threatening?"

"Sure as we can be without a real doctor."

"Pity," Tim said with feeling.

"Oh, come on. It won't last forever. We'll have you on powerful painkillers before the day is out."

"Great."

"Hey, cheer up."

Tim gave an intentionally humorless smile.

Tony stood up and clouted him gently on the shoulder. "There's the computer geek we all know and love. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go see a man about a horse."

Against his will, a laugh escaped Tim's lips as Tony headed into the woods. Once he was out of sight, however, the smile disappeared. As much as Tony would like to pretend everything was okay, it wasn't.

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"Where's Tony?" Ziva asked a few minutes later.

"Seeing a man about a horse," Tim replied glumly.

"What? Why does he need a horse?"

Tim smiled again. "That's another of those idioms."

"Well, what does it mean, then?" she demanded.

"He went to the bathroom."

"Why does seeing a man about a horse mean peeing?"

Tim started to answer and then realized that he couldn't. "I have no idea, but at this point, I'm probably not the person to ask."

"True." Ziva turned as Tony reemerged from the trees. "Tony, why does seeing a man about a horse indicate peeing?"

"I don't know, Ziva. It's just an expression."

"It's a euphemism originating in the 19th century when someone didn't want to reveal their business. Peeing generally fits in that category."

The three all turned toward the tent from which Gibbs was emerging.

"How do you know that, Boss?" Tony asked in astonishment.

Gibbs just smiled and said, "Now, I'm off to see a man about a horse."

Later, they all packed up, leaving a few rangers behind to finish the cleanup of the site, and headed into the nearest town with a hospital.


	10. Suddenly I See

**Chapter 10**

After spending some time shining a light in Tim's eyes, the doctor at the hospital in Ashton, Idaho straightened with a smile on his face. "Well, Mr. McGee, you are a very lucky man. You have two broken ribs, but they should heal up fine. None of the lacerations festered, and even the graze from the bullet was shallow and not serious. You'll be a few weeks in healing, but your recovery should be complete."

"What about my memory?" Tim asked, fearfully.

"You said that you're getting glimmers already?"

"Yes, but only little things."

"Well, I can't say for certain because we just don't know enough at this point, but I'd venture a guess that everything will come back to you... eventually."

"How long will that take, though?"

The doctor shrugged. "Days? Weeks? Even years is possible. I really don't know. However, the more you're around people and places you know, the more you'll remember and the more likely it is that you'll get your memory back completely."

"I'd hoped that..." Tim colored and stopped talking.

The doctor gave him a kind smile. "You hoped that I could make you remember everything, that there was a pill or something that could recover your memories."

Tim looked down and nodded.

"Well, I'm sorry. There's nothing like that, but you _want_ to know who you are, and you _are_ remembering some things. Don't lose hope that it will all come back."

"Why did it happen anyway?"

"Amnesia has many different causes. Since you can't remember exactly what happened to you, we can only guess as to the exact cause. More than likely, it was a combination of head trauma and psychological trauma. Some people close their minds away from traumatic events. Often, that will only involve the loss of the memory of the incident, but sometimes, the events are traumatic enough that the entire mind, essentially, hides from what happened. That's when hysterical post-traumatic amnesia or dissociative amnesia occurs."

Tim covered his head in his hands. The doctor chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't get so depressed, Mr. McGee. It's not the end of the world, although I know it may feel that way. Remember that it _will_ come back, just not when you want it to, necessarily."

"That's not very comforting right now."

"I know." He paused, took a deep breath and continued, "Now, here is the part where I become a regular doctor. No heavy lifting or otherwise strenuous activity for the next few weeks. I've given you a prescription for an analgesic which should reduce the pain to an endurable level... although, considering how long you went without help, any relief would be endurable wouldn't it. You have some stitches on the worst lacerations on your legs. Keep the dressing dry and have them checked out when you get back to DC. Use a topical antibiotic on the smaller lacerations and just make sure they don't get infected, same with the cuts on your hands. Any questions?"

"No."

"Okay. I'll release you to your colleagues. Do you remember anything about them?"

Tim slid gingerly off the examination table. "Not much. I remember their faces."

The doctor led him to the doorway. "But you've remembered something, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Don't suppose. Like Yoda told Luke, 'Do or do not. There is no try.'"

Tim smiled. "Now, you sound like Tony. He always relates things to movies."

"Always?"

Tim smile grew a little wider. "Yes, always. I remember that."

"See what I mean?"

"Yes."

"Good. Try to enjoy the rest of your stay in Ashton. There's not much to do if you're a city person, but it's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Tim admitted. It was true. The scenery was quite beautiful... when it wasn't trying to kill him. He saw Gibbs, Ziva and Tony sitting in the waiting room and realized he had completely accepted them as part of his background. He didn't know them still, but he trusted them. Now, if he could only remember the rest.

"Ready to go, McGee?"

Tim nodded. "Ready."

"Good. The car's just outside. We just need to check out of the hotel and then it's about an hour or so to the airport in Idaho Falls."

"Okay." Tim followed the three out of the hospital and to the parking lot, small though it was. As he started to cross the street, Tim glanced idly around him, taking in the sights he must have seen a few days before. Then, he stopped dead in the middle of the street, appearing to stare blankly down the road.

Ziva looked back and noticed his distinct lack of progress and nudged Tony. They both walked back to Tim.

"Hey, Probie. What's up?"

"McGee? Is something wrong?"

Tim was lost in a memory that had hit him so hard that he was speechless. He started to raise his hand to point, but stopped. He just stared. On the outside, he appeared frozen, but his mind was a frenzy of activity.

_Tim wandered a little further from the crash site, taking photos. He was about to head back to check on the interior of the plane when he noticed some debris outside the clearing. There was no telling if it was part of the crime scene, but Tim sighed and headed over to it. He knew that if Gibbs found it and he, Tim, had not documented it, he'd be in big trouble. He had a good system going by this point. Photograph, document, bag and tag. Take two steps and repeat. When the debris finally ended, Tim noticed that the ground was all stirred up, as if someone had been dragging a heavy load through the forest. He looked back toward the site and was surprised to find that he couldn't see it anymore. It was amazing how quickly the trees swallowed people up, sounds and sights both._

_He pulled out his radio and called back to the scene. _

"_Henson."_

"_Oh, sorry, Henson, I was aiming for Gibbs."_

"_You want me to get him?"_

_Oh, definitely not, he thought. "No. I'm just photographing some debris outside the crash site. Let him know, will you?"_

"_Will do, Agent McGee."_

"_Thanks." Tim signed off and continued on his way. He had no idea how far along he'd gone, but he knew that in order to get back, he simply had to follow the river, provided he didn't fall into it. The gorge could be pretty steep in places. He stopped when he heard voices. He was almost positive that he hadn't gotten turned around. These were other people, besides the rangers._

_Tim approached cautiously. He knew that Gibbs had theorized that the crash was no accident, that someone had taken it down intentionally to get at the cargo. If he had come up those people, he could be in over his head. He probably should go back and get help. But what if they were gone by the time he got back? He'd better investigate first. Ignoring the voice in his head telling him that this was a terrible idea, Tim closed in on the voices._

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"Do you think it's a side effect of the painkillers?" Tony said.

"I don't think catatonia is a normal reaction to an analgesic, Tony," Ziva replied. She shook Tim a little. "Hello? McGee?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------

"_I'll take that gun," said the other man, suiting actions to words._

_Tim surrendered it, knowing he had no choice. The man also took his radio and threw on the ground hard enough to break it. Then, he back around so that he was near the crates. He sneered at Tim._

"_NCIS, eh? Where's your backup?"_

_Tim didn't respond. He knew it had been a mistake to come here alone, but he'd had no idea that there would be a clearing so suddenly. He hadn't planned on a confrontation. _Gibbs is going to kill me, _he thought miserably. _And Tony will never let me live it down.

"_What are we going to do with him?" the first man asked, worriedly. _

"_No witnesses."_

_Tim realized that he was about to be shot with his own gun. _I don't want to die this way!_ He started to back away. Unfortunately, the edge of the river came upon him as suddenly as the clearing had. He slipped on the edge, trying to keep himself from falling. At the same time, the man fired. It was only Tim's attempt to stay upright that kept him from being killed, but the bullet still grazed his temple. He screamed in pain and slipped off the edge. He remembered something he'd learned a long time ago: When falling, try to throw yourself forward and grab onto something. Tim tried his best, but rocky walls gave him no purchase. He tore up his hands trying to hold onto _something_ on the cliff face, but nothing stopped him. At the same time, his legs churned vainly against the rocks in an attempt to slow his inevitable descent. _

_The cliff suddenly disappeared and Tim was falling unrestrained. He hit the water a short time later with all the force of a sledgehammer. His last view, before water and darkness closed over him, was of the two men peering over the edge at him. _Gibbs is definitely going to kill me, _he thought and surrendered to the darkness._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Gibbs? I don't know what's wrong with him."

Gibbs tried to follow Tim's gaze, but as he did so, Tim came awake with a gasp.

"McGee! What happened?"

Tim ignored them. What had seemed to him to take hours to relive had only taken seconds, and he could see. More importantly, he could remember!

"That man has my gun!" he shouted and took off running down the street.

At his shout, a nondescript man looked up from his car door. He paused for only a fraction of a second before drawing his, or rather Tim's, gun and firing.

"McGee, get down!" Ziva shouted. She tore after him, drawing her own gun and returning fire.

"When did we suddenly get involved in a Western shootout?" Tony said and followed after Ziva and Tim.

"Since we came to the West!" Gibbs replied. "I'll go for his car. You try to give Tim and Ziva some cover."

"Will do, Boss!" Tony pulled his gun ran diagonally toward the man, laying down a covering fire. Tim was still running full out at the man, obviously thinking about little other than getting his gun back. Ziva was only a short distance behind trying to cover Tim and not get shot herself. About a minute after he started firing, however, he was forced to stop because Tim had somehow reached him without getting any extra holes in his body. As the two collided, the man was forced into his open door and then onto the ground. The gun flew from his grasp as he struggled to gain the upper hand.

A few moments more, and Ziva entered the fray. She knew that whatever adrenaline Tim had rushing through him at the moment wouldn't last long in hand-to-hand combat. Then, Gibbs reached the car from the other side and had his gun out, aiming at the tangle of bodies on the ground.

"Ziva! Don't kill him!" he ordered, knowing that she could let herself get out of control in these situations.

Tim was flung backward out of the heaving mass, groaning and clutching his chest. He backed a few feet away and collapsed. Then, the tangle resolved into two people: Ziva, holding the man around the neck with one arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"Stop struggling or I _will_ kill you," she said, panting slightly. The man finally went still. Gibbs worried briefly that Ziva would just kill him anyway, but she shoved his face hard into the asphalt and pulled out her cuffs. "You're under arrest for theft and assault of a federal agent," she said fiercely.

Tony knelt by Tim. "McGee! McGee, wake up! Are you okay?"

Tim's face was ashen and pinched with pain. His eyes were still closed, but he whispered, near tears, "I think that counted as strenuous activity."

"Yes, I believe it would, McGee," Tony said, almost giddy with relief. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible, but it will make a nice chapter in _Rock Hollow_," Tim said.

Ziva turned toward Tim at his words. "What did you say, McGee?"

He squinted. "I said it would make a nice chapter in my book. Can I have my gun back?"

Gibbs walked over to wear Tim's gun had landed. "Sorry, not yet, McGee; it's evidence right now." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wrapped it.

"When can I get back?" Tim asked. For some reason, he felt naked without it, even though it usually made him a trifle uncomfortable to be carrying something that could kill people.

"We'll have to get it fingerprinted. Then, you can have it."

Ziva roughly pulled the prisoner to his feet and said, "Anyone remember where the police department is?"

"It's hardly a department. It's not big enough," Tim answered, "but it's that way." He pointed.

Everyone turned and looked at him.

"What? What are you all looking at me for?"

Instead of answering, Gibbs asked, "What's your apartment number?"

"Three. Why?"

"Your pen name?" Tony asked.

"Thom E. Gemcity. Why?"

"When did we first meet your sister?" Ziva shot off.

"When Sarah was under suspicion for murder. Why?"

"McGee..." Tony said, gleefully.

"You remembered," Ziva finished.

Tim blinked. "I did?"

"Yes."

"I did." Tim shuffled through various mental compartments and couldn't find any blank spots. "It's back." Another adrenaline rush surged through his veins and he jumped to his feet, hardly noticing the pain. "It's all back!"

He looked around at his friends, smiling widely, tears pricking his eyes. "I'm... I'm back," he whispered. "I'm me!" he shouted and suddenly hugged Tony. Then, he realized what he was doing and stepped back quickly, his face turning a bright red.

"Sorry, Tony."

"That's... uh, okay, McGee. Just don't ever do that again."

"Never," Tim said firmly.

"Besides, I think Abby might get jealous," Ziva said slyly.

If anything, Tim turned even more red. "I don't think so."

Tony smiled maliciously and said, "Maybe this will be more like _Spellbound_ than I thought, McGee."

"Shut up, Tony," Tim said, but instead of hiding his face, he met Tony's eyes, a sign that he had learned something from recent events. He'd had the experience of not being intimidated by Tony and Gibbs and he'd remembered that along with his other memories.

Even though he didn't show it, Gibbs was equally relieved as he saw what Ziva had mentally termed the McGee-ness of Tim back in its rightful place on Tim's face.

He grabbed the prisoner and started to drag him back to the car. As he left he shouted over his shoulder, "Welcome back, McGee."

Tim smiled. "Thanks, Boss."

THE END

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**A/N: The location for this story was inspired by a place near Ashton, Idaho called Cave Falls. The river there is punctuated with waterfalls, although not in the exact order of the story. It's a very beautiful place. I highly recommend it. :)**


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